A day at the hairdresser

The random tugging, snipping and twirling of his hair began. It was time for him to get his haircut. Why must hair grow? It's a waste of good nutrients. I mean, pretty nothing much happens with them too. 'Is this okay?'

'Huh?' Startled, he opened his eyes. 'Sorry?'

'Your fringe. Do you want it shorter? Less thick?'

A stock response - one he often used without forethought - rolled off his tongue. 'Oh, it's perfect. You got it just right.' For good measure, he beamed at the hairdresser.

The hairdresser paused, as though befundled. Then, there was an awkward silence.